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This beautiful chair and table are in the reception area at the company headquarters of David Yurman, the jewelry company, in TriBeCa in New York City. (Full disclosure: We recently worked on a project for an interactive ad agency whose client is Yurman and thus we went to their offices for a project meeting.)

There’s a hint of art-deco elegance in these otherwise contemporary pieces of furniture. The look is relaxed but rich and sexy. We kind of love the way we felt when we plopped down into this leather chair, its upholstery absorbing us like a hug from God, while we felt the thick, braided rug under our feet, a textile fabrication so tactile we could sense its textures through the soles of our boots.

The sealed concrete floor beneath added that touch of cool, clean, austere post-modernism that simultaneously was a balm on any anxieties one was feeling and a vessel that on its own was utterly devoid of aesthetic personality, lacking humanity in a way that suggested decorative choices by the unimaginative, aspirational uber-wealthy spouse of a hedge-fund manager with a generous budget.

We felt good. We looked good. We felt bougie as fuck! But we couldn’t help but think that the prices paid for this chair and table alone could probably feed a small sub-Saharan African nation for a month.  We suddenly felt sick.

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